A mostly uncensored version of my daily life of being a SAHM and having two young sons and a senile toy poodle.
Some days, I barely survive. Other days, I'm freaking awesome.
Yoy is my husband's nickname, so naturally, I'm Mrs. Yoy.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Poor Planning

Today I met Aunt Yoy at Jason's Deli for a pre-Thanksgiving feast.

Aunt Yoy arrived first and pulled three highchairs over to the table. I was impressed given her wounded state.

I walked in barely holding onto my kids and the diaper bag. I was a frenzied mad woman.

Little E was reaching over my shoulder and grabbing snacks out of my bag while yelling at me to open them. He doesn't actually talk yet, but I assume he's trying to say:

OPEN THESE DANG APPLE CRISPS, MOMMY!

I throw Little E into one highchair and Aunt Yoy throws Big E into another.

We both order and sit down to wait for our food.

Right over Aunt Yoy's shoulder, directly in Big E's line of fire, is the frozen yogurt machine that dispenses free yogurt for all. I pray he doesn't notice the thousands of people walking up and pouring themselves giant swirly cones.

The food arrives, Big E eats about three bites and then zeros in on his target.

I WANT YOGURT! I WANT YOGURT! I WANT YOGURT!

Ugh. We should have faced him the other way. I partially blame Aunt Yoy for the unfortunate configuration, but also blame myself for not being more aware of our situation.

As you can imagine, the rest of the meal went as follows:

I WANT YOGURT!

FINISH YOUR LUNCH!

I WANT YOGURT!

EAT YOUR PASTA!

I WANT YOGURT!

I WANT A GUN!

Obviously, he finally wore me down. But in my final act of defiance I poured him the absolute smallest amount of yogurt possible. It was payback for ruining our lunch.